Away with the Day
by Brat-Child3
Summary: At fifteen, Helga is still struggling with her lovexhate feelings. Arnold is fed up with her attitude and wishes she would just grow up. With the only person who ever made her feel wanted ignoring her, what's a girl to do? Helga's POV
1. Chapter 1

**Authors Note: **Wow. How many years has it been since I've written for Hey Arnold? At _least_ two. I've been having a little too much fun in the South Park section. But I could never, ever forget this show. I used to be BratChild2... Long story. If anyone remembers me, I wrote "Dark At Heart". Unfortunately, that's been lost. I'm trying my hand at another. Please let me know how you like it. :)

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Hey Arnold! Property of the amazing, wonderful Craig Bartlett.

**Warning: **The Rating may or may not move up to M. I'm pretty sure most HA! fans are near my age. (21) and would appreciate a more adult story if it's written tastefully. Like I said, we'll see how it goes.

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**Away with the Day. **

**Chapter 1;**

I hate it when I do this to him. Arnold, I mean. I've always made it a point to publicly humiliate him whenever the opportunity arises. Ever since preschool. You'd think by now it'd have gotten old, but I can never help it. The joke is like a fine wine; better with age. And yet it's bittersweet. Addictive, alluring, and too tempting to ignore when it's staring me in the face. It brings me happiness and misery all at the same time.

I wish I could quit.

"Helga, what is your problem?" He growls, wiping the goop from his face.

Even through the irritation, his gentleness shines through. I want to slap him for that, and I don't know why. Inside, I tell him I'm sorry, that I don't mean to hurt him. That I don't _want _to hurt him. But on the outside, my body takes up a mind of its own.

"_My _problem?" I scoff. "_I'm _not the one with tapioca all over my football-headed face, _hair _boy."

Crossing my arms, I point my nose in the air and close my eyes, looking every bit as smug as I feel. The high is only temporary.

"Take a look around, Helga." I open my eyes, taking in his fed up expression and the grim line his lips are pursed into. Gerald stands beside him. "No one is laughing anymore. It wore thin in the fourth grade."

The point is valid, but I don't have to admit that, to him or anyone else.

"_I _think it's funny."

His eyebrows furrow, the action narrowing his deep green eyes. "And _everyone else_ thinks you need to grow up. So I guess the jokes on you."

My heart is plummeting painfully inside my chest, something I constantly feel while he's around me. It's always worse when I know he's about to leave, bitter, all because of me.

He grabs a fresh pudding cup, shielding it with his hand so I can't smash down the bottom of the spoon with my fist and shower him in it again, then sidesteps me and disappears into the swarm of high-school kids making their way to the table they sit at every single day. Conforming to society and peer pressure. It makes me sick.

But not as sick as it makes me to watch him leave.

"What are _you _looking at?" I sneer at a group of Freshmen that had been in the lunch line behind us. They pull their eyes away, awkwardly looking about in random directions. I'm glad they're embarrassed. It takes their attention off my own embarrassment. They saw everything, and I hate them for being around to witness one of my weakest moments.

There's three cups of pudding left. With one swipe, I push them all onto my tray. I'm not going to eat them. I just want to see the look of disappointment on their too cheerful faces. They glance at each other, expressions satisfying my sick craving to hurt, then quietly take their trays and leave the line.

I'm alone now. Everyone's gotten their lunch for this period and is now sitting amongst friends, talking about teachers and assignments, boyfriends and girlfriends, dates and parties that I'll never get to go to because no one ever invites me. I turn from the semi-appealing, semi-gross array of school foods displayed in a row like a salad bar to the over filled cluster of lunch tables.

Arnold sits at table seven. Every single day. Along with the unbreakable group of P.S 118. It's the only table I'm allowed to sit at. Although none of them have ever _really _liked me, and even though they aren't _glad _about it, they still never chase me away. I've been a part of the group since preschool. They're too _used _of me being around to cast me out, no matter how much they all hate me.

Out of everyone, Phoebe is the only not included anymore. Not because she had decided she was too good for us, or because no one wanted her around, but because she had moved to Chicago, Illinois three years ago.

"_You've lived in one major city, you've lived in them all", _She had wrote, claiming the only difference between Hillwood and there was the people she would miss.

Watching the gang now, I can see that none of them notice that I'm not there. No one is looking around to see where I am. My chair sits, empty, at the corner of the table unnoticed. Just like me. A pang of jealousy nips at my stomach as I gaze at Lila. _Her _chair is a special chair, the chair just to the right side of Arnolds. She leans over, and his lips connect with her pale, freckled cheek. My fingers curl and crunch into my unopened milk carton. She's had that privilege for two years.

Two years, one month, and eight days. But who's counting anyway? Certainly not Arnold, who's such a sweet and caring boyfriend that he buys, makes, or does something special for her on the 9th of _every fricken month _because it's the _day _they became "official". How has he come up with twenty three ideas and two _huge _idea's for the "yearly" anniversaries?

Sighing, I turn away and toward a garbage can. I dump the untouched contents of my lunch into the putrid smelling waste container and set the tray on top. My hands are shaking.

"Helga?"

Spinning on my heel, I come face to face (or more like chin to eyes) with Lila. She's so short she literally has to gaze up at me. Around her I feel like a monster. A towering, ugly monster.

"Aren't you going to eat?" She asks, mouth curving into a frown and her brow wrinkling in concern. Irish green eyes shift from the swinging trash can flap to mine.

"I, um… _had a big breakfast!"_

Lie. In truth I had grabbed an apple out of the fruit bowl on my way out the door this morning, but when I bit into it, it was mealy and brown inside. I spit out the juiceless wedge in my mouth and tossed the rest on the ground.

"Well, alright then. I do hope you don't get too hungry before schools out. It's not normal for you to skip lunch."

What does this girl take me for, a huge cow that can't go a few hours without food? It's not like I haven't managed before. Suddenly, I feel even more enormous next to her petite figure.

"Just because I'm _tall_ doesn't mean I'm _fat_, _Lila_."

"I never said-"

"In fact, you probably eat more than _I _have in my life. I just don't throw up afterward."

"Gosh, Helga, I-"

"Save it for someone who cares, sister." I hiss, then make my trademark exit by stomping out

the door.

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In the library, I sit in the corner with my back toward everyone, huddling into the book I'm suppose to be using for research on my literature report. I can't focus. I'm so hungry. I'm so angry at what Lila said to me.

Lifting my shirt just slightly, I jiggle my stomach to see if it wobbles like Harold's. Moving my hand up my skirt, I pinch my inner thigh.

_Am _I fat?

"Hey, Helga."

I snap my hand away from my leg, dropping the book onto my shoe.

"Arnold!" I exclaim, gaining an angry and loud "Shhhhh!" from the haggy, old librarian. "I- I mean, watch it, football head! You scared the living crimony outta me."

"Sorry, Helga."

I lean forward to collect the book, and take the opportunity to expel a love-sick sigh.

"About earlier," He starts.

"What _about_ it?" I snap the book closed in my lap, then re-open it and start thumbing through like I'm trying to find my place, just so I have something, _anything _to do besides just sit here and stare like a big, dopey geek.

"Lila told me what happened."

I tense at the simple sound of her name. Squeezing the book, I watch my fingers go white.

"She didn't mean you were fat."

"Like I really care." I point out.

"Right." He agrees. "I just wanted you to know… well, you don't have anything to worry about. You look good. In fact, it wouldn't hurt if you gained a few pounds."

Secretly I smile, my toes curling in pleasure of the compliment.

_He said I look good._

"But that's not the reason I'm here. I wanted to apologize for getting so angry with you."

It's been little over an hour, and the boy can't stand the tension of an unresolved fight. It's annoying, in the cutest, most precious way.

A disinterested grunt escapes my throat. I burry my face in the thick backed book. But I'm listening. Hanging on every word.

"I just wish you'd stop doing all those things." He drapes his arms across his knees. The sleeves of his sweater fall over his hands, which are still slightly tan from last summer. "I mean, we're fifteen now, right?" I feel his eyes fall on me, taking me in. It makes me feel itchy.

"Doi!" I snort a remark.

He sighs, blatantly exasperated with my never ending attitude problem. "All I'm saying is that we should have put aside our differences with our childhood. _Years _ago. Why are we still doing this?"

Lila is standing in the doorway, watching and waiting for her _boyfriend _to come back to her.

"Doing _what?"_ I play stupid, proud of myself for having the genius to keep him away from her for only that much longer.

"You know _what_, Helga. This constant teasing. Since the day I've met you, all I've ever done is try to be nice to you, and all you've ever done is throw it back in my face."

Again, I feel my hands shake. He makes me more nervous then he'll ever know. What he thinks of me matters more than anything else in the world matters to me. I need to be nice. I need to _apologize._

"You really wanna know why, Arnold?"

He blinks, surprised at how gentle it sounds. I can't say I blame him. I'm shocked myself. It's how I always mean to sound. It's always what I hear in my head. It just never comes out that way. Closing the book again, I look at him, swallowing hard. He nods, eyes intensely glued to mine. I'm drowning in them, being drawn in deeper. My pulse escalated in my wrists. My blood pumps loudly in my ears. My heart starts to flutter like butterfly wings. Then suddenly…

…It all stops.

"Cause you're a weird-headed freak!" I shout, not caring who hears me. He sits there, stiff and wide-eyed as I continue. "You're so _nice _and _polite _all the time, and it makes me sick! No matter how many years go by, you just don't get that I _hate _you!"

Blink.

"But _why?_ Why do you hate me so much?"

Throwing my head back, I laugh. It's dry and mirthless.

"_Why?" _I shriek. "Because you're the type of person that would follow someone into the library to ask them nicely _why _they hate you!"

"You know something, Helga?" He shouts, startling me to the bone with his harsh tone and a slap of his hand against the cold tabletop. Standing, he points his index straight at my nose. "Its taken eleven whole years for me to get to this point, but now I can honestly say that I hate you, too. You're nothing but a stuck-up, ungrateful brat. I thought I saw something in you. Something good." His expression is torn between anger and disappointment. Shaking his head, he whispers venomously, "I've never been more wrong."

My whole body's gone numb. I stare after him, dumbstruck, unable to breathe or think or _feel _anything. Grabbing his book bag off the table, he tosses me one final glare over his shoulder and snatches the shocked Lila's hand to pull her with him on the way out.

Later I'll be glad everyone but the librarian had already left. For now, I'm stuck staring into the empty room, hearing the hollow echo of his words over and over. Slowly the world comes back into focus. The numbness dissipates, and in its place is the most intense feeling of _alone_ I've ever felt in my life.

The worst part is he sounded like he actually meant it.

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_-BratChild3 _


	2. Sweet Oblivion

**Authors Note: **Holy mother of crimony. All those beautiful reviews! So sorry I didnt update sooner! I'll tell ya, if I keep getting reviews, I'll be sure to update sooner. Thanks so much.

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**Chapter 2- Sweet Oblivion.**

7:30 pm.

Standing on the curb outside my "house", I stare up at the door, realizing for the first time in my life how cold and uninviting it looks. Maybe it's the rug Bob put out a few weeks ago that says "No Soliciting". Normal people have one that says "Welcome". It's friendly and warm, and it makes you feel more at ease approaching it. But that would be misleading for us, because there's nothing friendly or warm about the Pataki's.

A shiver wracks my body, reminding me of the chilly October breeze that's only going to keep getting colder as the minutes go by. Crossing my hands over my chest, I rub the tops of my arms with my palms. I don't want to go inside. No one's in there waiting for me. I don't have any friends to call back, or any homework to do since it's the weekend. Even if Miriam happened to make dinner, she didn't save any for me, and if her or Bob even notice I've finally come home, all they're going to do is make me take out the trash or do something else equally as stupid. I'm more lonely in my own home than I am at school, because at school, at least the teachers are paid to notice me.

Closing my eyes, I tilt my head back and pull at my short pigtails, trying to prepare myself. I hate it in there. If I had it my way I would've stayed at the park all night, where I had spent the better part of my afternoon, pacing and retracing my last conversation with Arnold. I stressed and I cried, I beat myself up emotionally and then, because I was so outraged with myself, I beat up a tree. _Literally _beat the ever-lovin' crap outta it. Didn't put one dent in the thick, old oak, but my hands are torn up from pounding the bark, and I think I pulled a muscle in my hip while I was kicking it. Now I'm walking around with a subtle limp and my hand over the sore spot like an old geezer far beyond her useful years.

What a bunch of crap.

Twisting the knob, I kick the door open and slam it behind me. Immediately I recognize the difference in atmosphere. My spine freezes.

…I smell pot roast.

_Oh no, _I groan to myself. This can only mean one thing, and this one thing isn't good. _Not _good at all.

Lightly, I turn toward the stairway, stiff and silent as I try to sneak up. My foot makes it to the first step.

"Baby sister!"

One foot frozen on the step and one hand resting on the banister, I slap my forehead and let my palm slide down my face.

_Perfect._

Turning toward my sickeningly sweet sister, I glower in all my contempt, cursing the heavens for allowing my already sour day to become down-right rotten. "What are _you _doing here?" She sure has gotten fat since I last saw her.

"Oh," she breathes, smiling so big she looks like one of those freaky clowns I avoid at the circus. _Yikes. _"Helga, I've got the best news ever."

_Bite me. _Like I really give a-

"Come on, Mommy and Daddy have been waiting all night, but I wouldn't tell them without my baby sister here." Grabbing my hand, she yanks me toward the kitchen.

My body heats up at the touch, making me hot and uncomfortable, like being trapped in a tiny box without enough air. "Let go of me!" I explode, twisting and pulling my arm away, to no avail.

"Sit next to me baby sister," Olga requests, taking her seat at the table. I give her a look.

"Who said you could touch me?" I demand, rubbing bitterly at my violated wrist. I hate being touched. I _hate _it when people touch me. It's suffocating.

"It's about time!" Bob roars, looking dark and scary from the head of the table. "We've been waiting all night! I'm starvin' over here. Where in the heck have you been, girl?"

"On vacation in Maui, _Bob."_

"Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey! Don't you backtalk me. Show some respect, you ungrateful little-"

_Click clink click! _"Could we have your attention, please?"

I turn my glare toward some stiff in a cheesy three-piece suit. Funny, I hadn't noticed him sitting there until he hit his fork against the glass cup, which really gets on my nerves.

"Who's this asshole?" I snort.

Bob shoots up, knocking his chair backward and disturbing all the dishes on the table because he accidentally tucked the tablecloth into his shirt with his napkin, _again. _

"That does it!" He bellows, pointing straight at my nose. I resist the urge to snap it in two, or bite it maybe. Anything that will make him bleed the way my heart is bleeding. "If you can't control that filthy pie-hole of yours, then get upstairs to your room!"

_It hurtsto resist…_

"Oh, Daddy, no!" Olga cries. From the corner of my eye, I see the mystery guy cover one of her hands with his. His fingers are thick and square.

"Good!" I slam my small, pointy-fingered hand against the table as I stand. "I don't want sit here with you anyway. Any of you, or _that._" Nudging my chin to my right, they think I'm suggesting Mr. Flintstone hands, but in fact I meant Olga.

There's a thick, blue vein protruding out of Bob's forehead, and I put it there, because he hates me. Just the sight of me make's his blood pressure rise. I know he was sorry I was ever born.

And so am I.

"Please, Daddy." Olga begs, her fingers curling into my arm. "Come on, Helga," she pulls down, gently easing me back into my seat. "Let's all have a nice dinner together."

The last time we had a "nice dinner together" was about six years ago at Christmas, and then in the middle of it, Grandma Pataki croaked and fell face first into her plate of yams. Our nice dinner turned into a very dreary Christmas and a crappy new year. Besides not wanting a repeat, I hate stinky old pot roast.

Bob serves everyone in tightlipped silence. He gets to me last, plopping a spoonful of overcooked carrots onto my plate and splattering me with it. I grit my teeth, growling beneath my breath and doing my best to keep my anger under control. The smoother this goes by, the quicker it will end, and that's the reward I tempt myself with all throughout the disgusting, uncomfortable meal. I'm on my best behavior, eating pot roast, drinking milk, choking down vegetables until I think my stomach may hit the reject button and spray everything back out onto the table. Leaning back in my chair, I belch loudly, feigning satisfaction when in fact it's all I can do to keep it all down. Bob shoots me a look, but Olga smiles triumphantly, as if I just paid her the biggest compliment possible.

And Miriam…

…Miriam just watches everyone, shoveling food into her mouth between yawns. It makes me mad to look at her, so I don't. If she doesn't want to act like a mother, I'm not going to treat her like one. She doesn't exist. She barely ever has.

Sometimes I wonder what Arnold's mom would have been like. I picture a women who's soft-spoken and always wears a smile. I bet she would have been the perfect mom, just like Arnold would have been the perfect son. Most people would probably be sad for him, for never having that, but not me. Having no mother is one of the few things we have in common, and I'll take any inch I can get.

"Family," Olga draws our attention, smiling her pearly row of perfect teeth. Her arm entwines with her date, and I see Bob scowl out of the corner of my eye. "Steven and I… are going to have a baby."

…

_Whoa… _

And, the shit has just hit the fan, folks. This is gonna be good.

We're all looking at Bob, because he's the one everyone is afraid of. It's his opinion that will matter most in the end. But he just sits, his hard features set in stone, his mouth a grim line. The vein disappeared while he ate, but now it's back, pulsing just under the surface of his skin. I can almost hear his blood course, and I'm pleased, sickeningly so, because he's about to blow his top, and for once it won't be directed at me. My lips twitch, curling upward at the ends. A smile. Something I haven't done in a very long time.

_Give it to her good Bob. Kick her to the curb._

"Wha…?" Miriam mumbles from her dark corner. "A baby? My baby's gonna have a baby?" The back of her chair hit's the linoleum floor as she stands and races to Olga's side. "Oh, honey, that's just- the best news I've heard in a long time. I am- so excited."

Olga is embraced by her lily-white arms, and my jaw hit's the table. And then Bob stirs, and I clamp it shut, my eyes narrowing with my evil smirk, because Bob isn't going to be happy just because Miriam is.

"_Steven," _He roars.

_Here it comes…_

The house becomes quiet, everyone holds their breath. There seems to be an infinite pause in time where the only thing that moves is the shadows dancing with the flame of the candle placed as the table centerpiece. My heart ticks off the seconds, then suddenly… he _smiles._

"I hope you're planning on putting a ring on her pretty little finger, son!" My big, scary father beams.

The house releases its breath, and suddenly everyone's smiling and happy and more full of life than I've seen anyone in my entire life.

"Yes, sir!" Steven replies. He launches into a story about how he's already proposed and Olga wouldn't give an answer until she knew how her family felt.

I'm left to myself, silently stewing in my own anger. And I _am _angry, because I hate my family, especially Olga. How is it that she can get knocked up by some guy we've never even heard of, and they're happy about it, but they'll ground me for a week if I bring home a 'B' on a test or leave a sock out of place?

The entire world is conspiring against me and I am _not _going to sit here and watch them celebrate something Olga did that I would have gotten murdered for.

Looking around, I can tell I don't even have to sneak away. They wouldn't miss me if I walk out with all the noise of a marching band parade. My eyes slice to Olga, giving her a cold look as I stand and leave the cheerfulness behind me.

---

In my room, I sit out my desk and pull out one of my pink poem books. Thumbing through, I find a blank page toward the back and then realize I don't feel like writing at all. In fact, I don't feel like anything. I just want to go to bed and sleep forever.

I click out my lamp, then climb onto my bed and gaze out the window at the bright city aglow with various lights and neon signs. Normally, I'd think about Arnold. But I can't think about Arnold, because I'm mad at him, too.

I'm mad because he's too dense to figure out for himself just how much I feel for him, because maybe he _would _have figured it out, or maybe I would have told him myself if he didn't spend every spare second he had with _Lila._

She doesn't deserve him. Not that I do, either. But she really doesn't, because she's a manipulator. She's sweet only to win people over and get her way. It's all an act she's been doing for so long it actually _is _part of her personality now. She's sweet not because that's her nature, but because it gets her things. Lila is fake, and in my opinion, that makes her worse than a bully. If only Arnold could see what I see…

But I'm not thinking about Arnold right now. If I think too long, I'll have to start wondering what he's doing right now, and if it's with Lila or about Lila or because of Lila. I'll have to wonder if his hands ever wander to places under his covers, places they shouldn't be, the way mine wander sometimes when I think of him. And if they do, I'll have to speculate on who makes his hands come alive with a mind of their own late at night, and I know that it isn't me.

I hear footsteps trudging up the stairs, slow and deliberately, but my heart has sunk and is now sitting in my stomach like a stone, weighing me down, paralyzing me from getting up and locking my door. So instead I mimic it, slipping down into the overly feminine covers on my bed, letting myself fall into a pool of silky material. I close my eyes the same moment my door flies open.

I'm more tired than I originally thought, because the moment I close my eyes, I begin slipping into sweet oblivion.

By the time morning comes, I won't remember that someone even cared enough to come check on me.

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_-BratChild3_


	3. Unlike Myself

**Authors Note: **Sorry about the long wait between updates. Hopefully now that Dark at Heart is up and running again, you guys will focus on this.

Reviews always appreciated, no matter how short.

Yes... Arnold is going to be in this WAY more than he is in this one or the last. No worries. :)

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**Chapter Three- Unlike Myself**

Olga makes blueberry muffins for breakfast. I have no problem stuffing my face, one after the other, a thick layer of butter spread between their deliciously fluffy and warm centers. I wash it all down with milk; gulp after gulp without a pause until the entire cup disappears. I then slam it back onto the table and wipe the liquid white mustache off my lip with the back of my hand. Bob stares at me incredulously the entire time.

"You eat like a pig!" He accuses.

I belch.

"I don't know what happened to her, Miriam. She must take after your side." Half a piece of sausage is hanging out of his mouth as he says this, and there's a muffin crumb clinging to his chin. I contemplate telling him what a hypocritical bastard he is, and that if I'm a pig, then he's a hog. But I keep my peace. For reasons _I _don't even know.

"Nonsense Daddy, she just likes my cooking." Olga justifies my alleged bad habits and kisses my cheek. I wipe it off savagely and wonder why she still thinks I'm four years old. "Do you want more?"

"No, I _don't _want any more." I snap.

Why am I so angry all the time?

…_Because you're stupid, _I remind myself.

My chair scrapes across the floor as I scoot it out to get up. Miriam doesn't look up. She hasn't looked at me in over two weeks. But of course, Bob watches my every mood.

"Where the heck do you think you're going?"

"Out."

"Out where?" He demands.

"_Out._" I repeat, already half way to the door.

"Nice seeing you, Helga!" Steven shouts. I close the door without answering back, then pause on the stoop.

He's the only one of Olga's boyfriends whose ever remembered my name.

---

I have a secret.

And _no, _it isn't about _Arnold. _This secret would destroy my life in a completely different way, because if Big Bob ever found out his daughter was a nutcase he'd _flip_. Sometimes I'm even mad at myself for this; I still see Dr. Bliss sometimes.

She never charges me, so I know it isn't about the money. I think it just makes her feel better to have someone around whose more screwed up than she is. Or maybe she just thinks I'm pathetic.

She's cried with me before.

Sunday's are when I usually find myself storming into her office, in a bad mood or some other disturbing form of self destructing panic, because for some reason that happens to be the day of the week I choose to do something particularly stupid or humiliating in front of Arnold and I know I'm going to have to face him in school the next day. But I find I'm heading there today; Saturday. And I don't really know why.

_Boredom, _I think, kicking a rock and watching it skid down the sidewalk.

I miss Phoebe and the way she used to gently decline offers to hang out with friends and go on dates with boys to spend her weekends with me instead. I miss having someone there who actually cared more about me than they did about themselves. I smile to myself; it's watered down by sadness.

When I get to Dr. Bliss' office, the secretary blinks at me, but says nothing. She doesn't like me, and I don't like her, either. Her glasses are thick and round, and she looks like an Owl with a bad haircut. A mean, ugly owl that scares everybody away.

I wonder if that's what other people think when they look at me.

"Dr. Bliss?" She snarls into the phone. "_that girl _is in here again. Do you want me to send her away?" Her eyes are like stone, and it makes me smile when the smirk evaporates from her weathered face. "Fine." She snaps, slamming the phone back into its cradle, then hitches her thumb toward the door. "Go. She's waiting."

I hold back until I cross the room and then flip her off in secret, wishing I could do it to her face but knowing I can't if I ever want to be allowed in here again.

The door clicks when I open it, and I click it closed behind me. The room is familiar and cool with artificial air. It makes me sleepy.

"Helga," Dr. Bliss says, her voice happy and sweet like always. "How are you today?"

She hasn't looked up from her papers, but I shrug in response and perch myself on the edge of her wide, cherry-wood desk, swinging my legs.

_I'm still too short to touch the floor, _I realize.

Blinking, I wonder why I always feel like such a towering ogre. I'm really… _not _one of the tallest people in school anymore. Shorter than most of the boys, but taller than Lila, Nadine, and Phoebe; when she was around. Shorter than Rhonda, though not by much, and the same exact height as Arnold.

I can stare directly into his eyes now.

"Helga?" My attention snaps to the short-haired woman I'd come to know so well. Her pen is frozen over a thick stack of manila papers. "What's on your mind?"

She clicks her pen closed and abandons it on the desk. Her eyes are sad today. Puffy and red, and I know that she's been crying, just like she was crying last week. I don't understand the feeling I get when I see her this way. It makes me feel _crappy. _It makes _me _want to cry.

_Sympathy._

_Concern._

_Worry._

I don't know how to handle these emotions.

There's a lump in my throat I have to swallow, and then I pull my eyes away, unable to stand it any longer. Therapists shouldn't be allowed to feel bad. I ignore her question and look out the window, my legs swinging leisurely.

"Helga," It's not a question this time. "Why don't you tell me what's on your mind?"

"Why don't _you _tell me why you were crying?"

A loud silence buzzes all around us, but it only takes a moment for her to regain her cool, professional tone. A _front _she's built.

"That isn't the issue."

"It's what's on my _mind._" I argue.

"What brought you here in the first place?" She rephrases, her sigh deep and mournful.

Today, I decide to cut her a break. I don't _feel _like myself. Attitude problems take a lot of energy, and I'm just too tired. My legs stop swinging and I pull at my pastel-blond pigtail.

"Olga…" I start, then look down at my leg. There's a scar on my knee that's been there since I was seven. It's shaped like a football. "she came home this weekend. And she's… she's pregnant."

"Congratulations." Dr. Bliss says, her smile soft.

I scowl and jump off the desk. "There's nothing to congratulate! _Don't _be _happy _for her!"

Dark eyebrows perk up in question. "And why not? A baby is a beautiful thing."

"A baby is a _disgusting _thing!" The wind picks up outside, howling through the trees. Clouds are starting to creep over the city and shadow everything below. "She got _knocked up _by some guy she's barely known a month, that _we've _never even heard of until yesterday, and everyone's acting like it's the best thing that's ever happened!"

"Maybe everyone is just trying to make the best out of an awkward situation. Did you ever think of that?"

I scoff and roll my eyes. "Or maybe they're just okay with whatever perfect _Olga _does with her crappy little life."

"Or maybe it's because she does it… _without _anger." The words freeze in my heart; freeze the glare off my face, because it's crossed my mind before. "People respond to emotions more than any other thing, Helga, and they rub off on other people. It's hard not to get excited about something when someone else is."

"It's not hard for _me._" I grumble.

"You're a very special girl. Unique. You know how to hide everything you feel behind anger."

I turn to face her, but I'm not angry. Not anymore. When I speak, it comes out soft. "And you hide yours behind professionalism." Her lips are painted a deep ruby, and she purses them together now, almost like if she doesn't, a secret will spill out like barf. "Don't you?"

"You're very observant, very smart." She answers that way, sidestepping the issue itself. "You can read people the moment you meet them."

"And you're half phony." I decide, pulling myself onto the edge of the giant desk again. "Dr. Bliss? Why do you always work on the weekend?"

Nervously, she scoops up her pen and taps it against the acrylic coated wood. "When I was in high school, I made a promise to myself that I'd dedicate my life helping kids."

"Don't you ever want to do anything for yourself?"

She shakes her head, and I don't understand her. I think she's crazy.

"No Helga," she breaths. "I don't."

We're both silent a while. It makes me uncomfortable that I'm so _comfortable, _no matter how little sense it makes.

"How are things with Arnold?"

My heart gives a little flutter at the sound of his name, but I'm used of discussing it with her. I shrug. "He's mad at me right now."

"Why?"

Another shrug. "Cause I screamed in his football headed face."

I see her nod out of the corner of my eye. "Did that make you feel good?"

My index finger swirls around my childhood scar. I can see his face there, and his eyes are sad. "It made me feel…" I pause, trying to think of the proper word. "_alone."_

"Yes," She agrees. "I can see why it would. Are you going to apologize?"

I push a stray piece of hair out of my face. "No. He'll be over it by Monday."

"You're sure?"

I hesitate for a moment, tasting dread. "…sure I'm sure."

But I can't help but think that this time I might be wrong.

---

**To Be Continued...**

* * *

_-BratChild3 _


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